


Sherlock's Coat

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Friendship, Gen, Oneshot, Post-Reichenbach, Sherlock's Coat, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-13
Updated: 2016-08-13
Packaged: 2018-08-08 12:36:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7758118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock always wore the coat, even to his death....</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sherlock's Coat

**Author's Note:**

> Post-Reichenbach Oneshot. John finds Sherlock's coat and thinks about his friend. *Spoilers*. No implied Johnlock.

He stands before the doorway to their apartment, knowing it will be empty. Of course it will be. And yet it's too late now to get a hotel room. There's no choice. 

 _It's only for one night_ , he reminds himself.  _Tomorrow you can leave._

He opens the door and takes a step in. For a moment he stands, blinking to adjust to the darkness, wondering why there is no light. Then he remembers that it was always Sherlock's long arm that reached over his head for the light switch. He finds it now, fumbling in the dark, and turns it on. And then he stands blinking to adjust to the light. 

The living room is empty, of course, Sherlock is gone. His chair is empty. So is John's, across from it, and there is the skull perched on the mantelpiece. John stiffens to see it. It stares at him with huge, empty eyes, and suddenly in his mind, the eyes become sharply grey, framed by blood and sweaty brown curls...

John knocks the skull of the mantelpiece, where it stares at him from the floor. He kicks it away, and it rolls into the kitchen, where Sherlock's unfinished experiment sits on the table. He was so close to figuring it out. So close... 

Just like John was so close when he watched him fall off that roof. Just not close enough. 

Somehow, his feet are leading him across the hall into Sherlock's bedroom. He looks around. The bed is unmade, so he makes it. Not that Sherlock will ever sleep in it again. He opens the closet and rifles through the suits, the scarves. He slams the closet door shut and runs out, closing the door behind him. 

He goes back to the living room, and from this angle, he notices something he hadn't before. There is something lying on the table that wasn't there when he and Sherlock left. John walks to it and picks up the note lying on top of it. 

"John,

Thought you might want this, so I pulled a few strings once they were done examining it. Take care of yourself.

          -Greg."

John sets the note aside and picks up the item on the table. It comes unfolded as he holds it up. It is Sherlock's coat, and it clearly has been dry-cleaned.  _What for?_ he wonders.

"Please, have you learned nothing of my methods?" Sherlock's voice whispers. "Examine it. Why did they dry-clean it? What were they keeping from you?"

John turns the coat over and runs his fingers along it. It's soft yet stiff, broken in after years adorning Sherlock's lean frame. On the label, there is a small red stain. 

"They dry-cleaned it - they wouldn't do that for evidence, so they did it after, when Lestrade convinced them to give it to you." Sherlock spouts off deductions in John's mind. "Obviously there was more blood, and there must have been a lot for that stain to be left over. Why wouldn't they give you a bloody coat? Well, anyone can see that. It would upset you. Look, you're crying now because of that one speck."

"I'm not crying, Sherlock!" John snaps. "Do you really think I'd cry because of a coat? It's not fair for you to think that I cared that much... about you..."

John collapses into his chair, sobbing like he hasn't since he was a child. The coat is on him and he doesn't know how. Somehow it slipped onto his arms and buttoned itself. He curls up, pulls it around him. Sherlock always wore that coat, even to his death, and now Sherlock is gone, and it is left to his only friend in the world.

 _Will anyone even mourn for Sherlock?_ John wonders. They will, of course, but they'll mourn for the greatest mind of their time, the brilliant detective who went too soon. None of them will cry for the man that John came to know, to love, to trust. 

How will he go on alone? For he is alone now - he will leave Baker Street tomorrow, say goodbye to Mrs. Hudson and to Sherlock's ghost. 

John curls up in Sherlock's coat and cries himself to sleep. 

 

 


End file.
